Ischl
It was a custom with Mrs. Finn almost every autumn to go off to
Vienna, where she possessed considerable property, and there to
inspect the circumstances of her estate. Sometimes her husband
would accompany her, and he did so in this year of which we are now
speaking. One morning in September they were together at an hotel at
Ischl, whither they had come from Vienna, when as they went through
the hall into the courtyard, they came, in the very doorway, upon
the Duke of Omnium and his daughter. The Duke and Lady Mary had just
arrived, having passed through the mountains from the salt-mine
district, and were about to take up their residence in the hotel for
a few days. They had travelled very slowly, for Lady Mary had been
ill, and the Duke had expressed his determination to see a doctor at
Ischl.
There is no greater mistake than in supposing that only the young
blush. But the blushes of middle life are luckily not seen through
the tan which has come from the sun and the gas and the work and the
wiles of the world. Both the Duke and Phineas blushed; and though
their blushes were hidden, that peculiar glance of the eye which
always accompanies a blush was visible enough from one to the other.
The elder lady kept her countenance admirably, and the younger one
had no occasion for blushing. She at once ran forward and kissed her
friend. The Duke stood with his hat off waiting to give his hand to
the lady, and then took that of his late colleague. "How odd that we
should meet here," he said, turning to Mrs. Finn.
"Odd enough to us that your Grace should be here," she said, "because
we had heard nothing of your intended coming."
"It is so nice to find you," said Lady Mary. "We are this moment
come. Don't say that you are this moment going."
"At this moment we are only going as far as Halstadt."
"And are coming back to dinner? Of course they will dine with us.
Will they not, papa?" The Duke said that he hoped they would. To
declare that you are engaged at an hotel, unless there be some real
engagement, is almost an impossibility. There was no escape, and
before they were allowed to get into their carriage they had promised
they would dine with the Duke and his daughter.
"I don't know that it is especially a bore," Mrs. Finn said to her
husband in the carriage. "You may be quite sure that of whatever
trouble there may be in it, he has much more than his share."
"His share should be the whole," said her husband. "No one else has
done anything wrong."
When the Duke's apology had reached her, so that there was no longer
any ground for absolute hostility, then she had told the whole story
to her husband. He at first was very indignant. What right had the
Duke to expect that any ordinary friend should act duenna over his
daughter in accordance with his caprices? This was said and much more
of the kind. But any humour towards quarrelling which Phineas Finn
might have felt for a day or two was quieted by his wife's prudence.
"A man," she said, "can do no more than apologise. After that there
is no room for reproach."
At dinner the conversation turned at first on British politics,
in which Mrs. Finn was quite able to take her part. Phineas was
decidedly of opinion that Sir Timothy Beeswax and Lord Drummond could
not live another Session. And on this subject a good deal was said.
Later in the evening the Duke found himself sitting with Mrs. Finn in
the broad verandah over the hotel garden, while Lady Mary was playing
to Phineas within. "How do you think she is looking?" asked the
father.
"Of course I see that she has been ill. She tells me that she was far
from well at Salzburg."
"Yes;--indeed for three or four days she frightened me much. She
suffered terribly from headaches."
"Nervous headaches?"
"So they said there. I feel quite angry with myself because I did
not bring a doctor with us. The trouble and ceremony of such an
accompaniment is no doubt disagreeable."
"And I suppose seemed when you started to be unnecessary?"
"Quite unnecessary."
"Does she complain again now?"
"She did to-day--a little."
The next day Lady Mary could not leave her bed; and the Duke in his
sorrow was obliged to apply to Mrs. Finn. After what had passed on
the previous day Mrs. Finn of course called, and was shown at once up
to her young friend's room. There she found the girl in great pain,
lying with her two thin hands up to her head, and hardly able to
utter more than a word. Shortly after that Mrs. Finn was alone with
the Duke, and then there took place a conversation between them which
the lady thought to be very remarkable.
"Had I better send for a doctor from England?" he asked. In answer to
this Mrs. Finn expressed her opinion that such a measure was hardly
necessary, that the gentleman from the town who had been called in
seemed to know what he was about, and that the illness, lamentable
as it was, did not seem to be in any way dangerous. "One cannot tell
what it comes from," said the Duke dubiously.
"Young people, I fancy, are often subject to such maladies."
"It must come from something wrong."
"That may be said of all sickness."
"And therefore one tries to find out the cause. She says that she is
unhappy." These last words he spoke slowly and in a low voice. To
this Mrs. Finn could make no reply. She did not doubt but that the
girl was unhappy, and she knew well why; but the source of Lady
Mary's misery was one to which she could not very well allude. "You
know all the misery about that young man."
"That is a trouble that requires time to cure it," she said,--not
meaning to imply that time would cure it by enabling the girl to
forget her lover; but because in truth she had not known what else to
say.
"If time will cure it."
"Time, they say, cures all sorrows."
"But what should I do to help time? There is no sacrifice I would
not make,--no sacrifice! Of myself I mean. I would devote myself to
her,--leave everything else on one side. We purpose being back in
England in October; but I would remain here if I thought it better
for her comfort."
"I cannot tell, Duke."
"Neither can I. But you are a woman and might know better than I do.
It is so hard that a man should be left with a charge of which from
its very nature he cannot understand the duties." Then he paused, but
she could find no words which would suit at the moment. It was almost
incredible to her that after what had passed he should speak to her
at all as to the condition of his daughter. "I cannot, you know," he
said very seriously, "encourage a hope that she should be allowed to
marry that man."
"I do not know."
"You yourself, Mrs. Finn, felt that when she told you about it at
Matching."
"I felt that you would disapprove of it."
"Disapprove of it! How could it be otherwise? Of course you felt
that. There are ranks in life in which the first comer that suits a
maiden's eye may be accepted as a fitting lover. I will not say but
that they who are born to such a life may be the happier. They are, I
am sure, free from troubles to which they are incident whom fate has
called to a different sphere. But duty is--duty;--and whatever pang
it may cost, duty should be performed."
"Certainly."
"Certainly;--certainly; certainly," he said, re-echoing her word.
"But then, Duke, one has to be so sure what duty requires. In many
matters this is easy enough, and the only difficulty comes from
temptation. There are cases in which it is so hard to know."
"Is this one of them?"
"I think so."
"Then the maiden should--in any class of life--be allowed to take the
man--that just suits her eye?" As he said this his mind was intent on
his Glencora and on Burgo Fitzgerald.
"I have not said so. A man may be bad, vicious, a spendthrift,--eaten
up by bad habits." Then he frowned, thinking that she also had her
mind intent on his Glencora and on that Burgo Fitzgerald, and being
most unwilling to have the difference between Burgo and Frank Tregear
pointed out to him. "Nor have I said," she continued, "that even were
none of these faults apparent in the character of a suitor, the lady
should in all cases be advised to accept a young man because he has
made himself agreeable to her. There may be discrepancies."
"There are," said he, still with a low voice, but with infinite
energy,--"insurmountable discrepancies."
"I only said that this was a case in which it might be difficult for
you to see your duty plainly."
"Why should it be?"
"You would not have her--break her heart?" Then he was silent for
awhile, turning over in his mind the proposition which now seemed to
have been made to him. If the question came to that,--should she be
allowed to break her heart and die, or should he save her from that
fate by sanctioning her marriage with Tregear? If the choice could be
put to him plainly by some supernal power, what then would he choose?
If duty required him to prevent this marriage, his duty could not be
altered by the fact that his girl would avenge herself upon him by
dying! If such a marriage were in itself wrong, that wrong could not
be made right by the fear of such a catastrophe. Was it not often
the case that duty required that someone should die? And yet as he
thought of it,--thought that the someone whom his mind had suggested
was the one female creature now left belonging to him,--he put his
hand up to his brow and trembled with agony. If he knew, if in
truth he believed that such would be the result of firmness on his
part,--then he would be infirm, then he must yield. Sooner than that,
he must welcome this Tregear to his house. But why should he think
that she would die? This woman had now asked him whether he would
be willing to break his girl's heart. It was a frightful question;
but he could see that it had come naturally in the sequence of the
conversation which he had forced upon her. Did girls break their
hearts in such emergencies? Was it not all romance? "Men have died
and worms have eaten them,--but not for love." He remembered it all
and carried on the argument in his mind, though the pause was but for
a minute. There might be suffering, no doubt. The higher the duties
the keener the pangs! But would it become him to be deterred from
doing right because she for a time might find that she had made the
world bitter to herself? And were there not feminine wiles,--tricks
by which women learn to have their way in opposition to the judgment
of their lords and masters? He did not think that his Mary was
wilfully guilty of any scheme. The suffering he knew was true
suffering. But not the less did it become him to be on his guard
against attacks of this nature.
"No," he said at last; "I would not have her break her heart,--if I
understand what such words mean. They are generally, I think, used
fantastically."
"You would not wish to see her overwhelmed by sorrow?"
"Wish it! What a question to ask a father!"
"I must be more plain in my language, Duke. Though such a marriage
be distasteful to you, it might perhaps be preferable to seeing her
sorrowing always."
"Why should it? I have to sorrow always. We are told that man is born
to sorrow as surely as the sparks fly upwards."
"Then I can say nothing further."
"You think I am cruel."
"If I am to say what I really think I shall offend you."
"No;--not unless you mean offence."
"I shall never do that to you, Duke. When you talk as you do now you
hardly know yourself. You think you could see her suffering, and not
be moved by it. But were it to be continued long you would give way.
Though we know that there is an infinity of grief in this life, still
we struggle to save those we love from grieving. If she be steadfast
enough to cling to her affection for this man, then at last you will
have to yield." He looked at her frowning, but did not say a word.
"Then it will perhaps be a comfort for you to know that the man
himself is trustworthy and honest."
There was a terrible rebuke in this; but still, as he had called it
down upon himself, he would not resent it, even in his heart. "Thank
you," he said, rising from his chair. "Perhaps you will see her again
this afternoon." Of course she assented, and, as the interview had
taken place in his rooms, she took her leave.
This which Mrs. Finn had said to him was all to the same effect as
that which had come from Lady Cantrip; only it was said with a higher
spirit. Both the women saw the matter in the same light. There must
be a fight between him and his girl; but she, if she could hold out
for a certain time, would be the conqueror. He might take her away
and try what absence would do, or he might have recourse to that
specific which had answered so well in reference to his own wife;
but if she continued to sorrow during absence, and if she would have
nothing to do with the other lover,--then he must at last give way!
He had declared that he was willing to sacrifice himself,--meaning
thereby that if a lengthened visit to the cities of China, or a
prolonged sojourn in the Western States of America would wean her
from her love, he would go to China or to the Western States. At
present his self-banishment had been carried no farther than Vienna.
During their travels hitherto Tregear's name had not once been
mentioned. The Duke had come away from home resolved not to mention
it,--and she was minded to keep it in reserve till some seeming
catastrophe should justify a declaration of her purpose. But from
first to last she had been sad, and latterly she had been ill. When
asked as to her complaint she would simply say that she was not
happy. To go on with this through the Chinese cities could hardly be
good for either of them. She would not wake herself to any enthusiasm
in regard to scenery, costume, pictures, or even discomforts.
Wherever she was taken it was all barren to her.
As their plans stood at present, they were to return to England so
as to enable her to be at Custins by the middle of October. Had he
taught himself to hope that any good could be done by prolonged
travelling he would readily have thrown over Custins and Lord
Popplecourt. He could not bring himself to trust much to the
Popplecourt scheme. But the same contrivance had answered on that
former occasion. When he spoke to her about their plans, she
expressed herself quite ready to go back to England. When he
suggested those Chinese cities, her face became very long and she was
immediately attacked by paroxysms of headaches.
"I think I should take her to some place on the seashore in England,"
said Mrs. Finn.
"Custins is close to the sea," he replied. "It is Lord Cantrip's
place in Dorsetshire. It was partly settled that she was to go
there."
"I suppose she likes Lady Cantrip."
"Why should she not?"
"She has not said a word to me to the contrary. I only fear she would
feel that she was being sent there,--as to a convent."
"What ought I to do then?"
"How can I venture to answer that? What she would like best, I think,
would be to return to Matching with you, and to settle down in a
quiet way for the winter." The Duke shook his head. That would be
worse than travelling. She would still have headaches and still tell
him that she was unhappy. "Of course I do not know what your plans
are, and pray believe me that I should not obtrude my advice if you
did not ask me."
"I know it," he said. "I know how good you are and how reasonable. I
know how much you have to forgive."
"Oh, no."
"And, if I have not said so as I should have done, it has not been
from want of feeling. I do believe you did what you thought best when
Mary told you that story at Matching."
"Why should your Grace go back to that?"
"Only that I may acknowledge my indebtedness to you, and say to you
somewhat fuller than I could do in my letter that I am sorry for the
pain which I gave you."
"All that is over now,--and shall be forgotten."
Then he spoke of his immediate plans. He would at once go back to
England by slow stages,--by very slow stages,--staying a day or two
at Salzburg, at Ratisbon, at Nuremberg, at Frankfort, and so on. In
this way he would reach England about the 10th of October, and Mary
would then be ready to go to Custins by the time appointed.
In a day or two Lady Mary was better. "It is terrible while it
lasts," she said, speaking to Mrs. Finn of her headache, "but when it
has gone then I am quite well. Only"--she added after a pause--"only
I can never be happy again while papa thinks as he does now." Then
there was a party made up before they separated for an excursion to
the Hintersee and the Obersee. On this occasion Lady Mary seemed to
enjoy herself, as she liked the companionship of Mrs. Finn. Against
Lady Cantrip she never said a word. But Lady Cantrip was always a
duenna to her, whereas Mrs. Finn was a friend. While the Duke and
Phineas were discussing politics together--thoroughly enjoying the
weakness of Lord Drummond and the iniquity of Sir Timothy--which they
did with augmented vehemence from their ponies' backs, the two women
in lower voices talked over their own affairs. "I dare say you will
be happy at Custins," said Mrs. Finn.
"No; I shall not. There will be people there whom I don't know, and I
don't want to know. Have you heard anything about him, Mrs. Finn?"
Mrs. Finn turned round and looked at her,--for a moment almost
angrily. Then her heart relented. "Do you mean--Mr. Tregear?"
"Yes, Mr. Tregear."
"I think I heard that he was shooting with Lord Silverbridge."
"I am glad of that," said Mary.
"It will be pleasant for both of them."
"I am very glad they should be together. While I know that, I feel
that we are not altogether separated. I will never give it up, Mrs.
Finn,--never; never. It is no use taking me to China." In that Mrs.
Finn quite agreed with her.